


Pale Shelter

by darkrose



Series: Walking on Broken Glass [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Chromatic Character, Gen, Personal Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrose/pseuds/darkrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A knock on the door in the dead of night never bodes well, especially in a house full of apostate mages. But for Malcolm Hawke, a desperate late-night summons might just grant him what he's sought for so long: a place where his beloved Leandra and their children--even his magically gifted daughter and eldest son--can live in peace and safety, free from the Circle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the [Bioware Dragon Age: Asunder Creative Writing Challenge](http://social.bioware.com/forum/1/topic/260/index/8860035/1). Sadly, I wasn't one of the winners, but I'm still pretty happy with this story and the way it fits in with my personal canon.
> 
> Title is from the song by the same name by Tears for Fears.

_Lothering, 9:20 Dragon_

Malcolm froze when he heard the knock on the front door. This late at night, it couldn't mean anything good, or even harmless. Leandra, bless her, was already corralling the children and trying to get them into the cellar.

"But I can help! I'm not afraid of templars!" Julian protested, and despite Malcolm's stomach-clenching fear for his wife and children, he had to bite back a smile. His eldest's idea of helping would inevitably involve lightning and fire; given how his raw ability and his enthusiasm far outstripped his technique, he would be more likely to set the barn ablaze than anything else.

"Julian, go with your mother, and stop sparking." Julian's tendency to leak magic when he was agitated worried Malcolm, but he couldn't spare the time for a lesson on control. Focusing on the immediate problem at hand, Malcolm waited for the cellar door to close, pulled down the faded tapestry to hide the door from view, and went to see who was calling at this hour.

The night visitor wasn't a templar; it was a boy who couldn't have been much older than Julian--fifteen at the most--shivering even in his heavy cloak and holding the reins of a horse in one hand and a lantern in the other.

"M-m-master Hawke? Bann Leofwine sent me to bring you to the manor. He needs your help."

There was really only one reason for such a summons, so Malcolm didn't waste time asking stupid questions. He took a few moments to gather a few potions and a selection of herbs, though after some thought, he chose to leave his staff behind. It only got in the way when he was healing; if he ended up needing it, then he'd already lost the battle, whatever it might be.

"Quickly," he told the boy, "If you were sent to fetch me, then time must be of the essence."

When they arrived at the manor, a servant ushered Malcolm upstairs. He could hear the sound of a woman moaning, and of another woman murmuring what were probably meant to be comforting words.

He also heard a sound he recognized as someone in plate mail shifting position, so he wasn't surprised when he entered the bann's private rooms to see Ser Bryant, Knight-Commander of Lothering's templars, standing next to the well-dressed, frantic-looking young man. Mistress Edda, the village midwife, came in from the adjoining chamber. Her hands and the front of her dress were stained with blood.

"I'm sorry, Master Hawke. I'd not have said anything for the world, you know that, but the babe's too big for her and positioned badly, and I can't stop her from bleeding out."

Malcolm was already stripping out of his cloak. "I know," he assured the midwife. "I'm glad you had them send for me." This close, the woman's pain was almost a tangible thing, and he could feel the power gathering in him, anxious to be used. There was, however, one thing he did need to make clear.

"I will do my best to save both your wife and child," Malcolm said, meeting the bann's eyes but ignoring the templar for now. "But in the end, their lives are in the Maker's hands, not mine. I will not have my wife and children suffer for it should I fail."

The bann looked startled. "No, of course not. I just...please, if there's anything you can do. You shall have anything in my power to grant, if you'll just try to save them. If...." He took a deep breath. "If you must choose, I...I don't think I can lose Muriel."

Malcolm nodded slowly. Leandra had struggled through difficult labors with both Julian and the twins; he knew firsthand the weight of that impossible choice. "I promise you that I will do everything I can."

Lady Muriel was in the bed propped up on pillows. The bedclothes and the floor were soaked with too much blood, and Malcolm knew that they had little time before she bled to death, the child suffocated, or both.

"Who...who is that?" the lady gasped, her voice hoarse from screaming.

"I am a healer, my lady, here to assist Mistress Edda. I have helped bring many children into the world safely, including my own three." Malcolm had discovered over the years mentioning his own family went a long way towards reassuring his patients. Mages were supposed to be terrifying, alien creatures, not ordinary-looking men with work-calloused hands and wives and children waiting for them at home.

He slipped a vial out of his belt pouch and handed it to the midwife. "I'm afraid this draught is not particularly pleasant-tasting, but it will help ease the pain without making you sleep." Lady Muriel regarded it dubiously, but swallowed the contents at Edda's urging. Malcolm rested his fingers against Muriel's wrist, waiting until he felt her pulse slow before touching her.

When he was sure he had a sense of how the babe was positioned, he nodded to Edda. They'd done this before, and worked well together, making the process much easier for him. He took a long, deep breath and slipped partially into the Fade, dropping into a trancelike state to begin his work.

Malcolm had no idea how much time had passed when he heard the loud, aggrieved howl of someone who'd just been thrust into a cold, bright, scary place. He was bone-tired, and had it not been for the strong hand on his arm, he would have stumbled. Ser Bryant looked at him, his expression unreadable.

"The bann has a son, and his wife lives," he said. "He will want to speak with you, but for the moment..." To Malcolm's surprise, the templar helped him to a chair before going to stand near the door, silent and watchful.

Edda placed the babe in his mother's arms. Malcolm remembered bitterly how many women he'd known in the Circle who'd never had the chance to look at their newborn children, much less hold them, but when the bann himself came into the room, it was easy for Malcolm to let go of his lingering resentment. He couldn't help but smile at the look of wonder on the bann's face when he saw his son for the first time. He was sure he'd had a similar expression the first time he took Julian in his arms, astonished that this tiny, squalling creature was real.

With visible reluctance, the bann handed his son back to his mother, and gestured for Malcolm and Ser Bryant to accompany him out of the room. Once the door had closed behind the three men, he turned to regard Malcolm with something uncomfortably close to awe.

"Master Hawke...I'm not exactly an eloquent man. The debt I owe you...I don't have the words...I'd thought to grant you permission to stay in Lothering, but if there's anything else you desire...."

It was a ridiculous flight of fancy to imagine that one day they could stop running and find a place a family of five--including three apostate mages--could call home; Malcolm rarely bothered to entertain the idea. Now, it was being offered, and he wasn't entirely sure how to react.

"There is nothing in this world I want more than to be able to live in peace with my wife and children," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I thank you, but...forgive me: is this truly something you can give? I would think the Knight-Commander might have an opinion on the subject."

"That's why I requested Ser Bryant's presence," the bann said. "I could not make this offer without consulting with him first, and it seemed that if he approved, it would be best for him to tell you so in person."

The templar's face was unreadable. "My priority is to guard Lothering against maleficarum and other magical threats. Provided that you are discreet, and adhere to both the letter and the spirit of the Chant, then you would not fall into that category."

Malcolm bit back a laugh at Bryant's careful wording. What were the odds that in Lothering, of all places, he'd encounter another templar like Maurevar? He bowed to Ser Bryant, and then, more deeply, to Bann Leofwine.

"My lord, you have my thanks. With your permission, I should go home and share this news with my wife."

Bann Leofwine waved a hand. "Of course; of course." He glanced at the door. "I should see how Muriel is doing. And my son." His smile was bright enough to light the entire room.

Malcolm declined any offer of an escort home, but he got one anyway, as Ser Bryant fell into step beside him. Neither man spoke for some time until finally Malcolm asked,"Why?"

"The Chant of Light says only that magic should serve man, and never rule over him. Nowhere does it say that the Maker is served by tearing a woman's husband and children from her."

Malcolm had said the same thing many times, and he wasn't going to let Bryant get away with avoiding his question. "You and I both know that the words of the Chant and what the Chantry teaches are not always the same thing--and that your charge is to enforce the latter."

After another long silence, Bryant said, "My stepsister was a mage. On the day she was taken to the Circle, my mother screamed and begged the templars not to take her, offering them anything. My sister was all she had of her first husband, and when she lost that last reminder....she was never the same."

He paused and regarded Malcolm. "I have been aware of you--all of you--for some time. I heard the whispers about the healer who offered his services to those who were seriously injured. I watched you carefully. And I decided that unless my hand was forced, I could look the other way. Had you been alone, then...who knows? But you have a wife and children, and I could not bring myself to shatter another woman's life as my mother's was, not without clear cause."

"I...don't know what to say. Other than thank you."

A corner of Bryant's mouth went up. "I should tell you that while you are clearly skilled and educated, I wonder how you intend to train two young mages without access to the resources of the Circle."

Malcolm asked himself that on a daily basis. Bethany's sweet nature and tendency to be cautious, along with her facility for creation magic, made her easy for Malcolm to teach. Julian was another matter. He had an affinity for elemental magic--fire and lightning, and to a lesser degree stone and ice--coupled with a quick temper, a nose for mischief, and a razor-sharp tongue. Only his generally good nature kept Malcolm worried, rather than outright terrified, for his eldest child.

Ser Bryant, of course, didn't need to know any of that. "I teach them that which I learned, and believe: that magic is a gift from the Maker, and they have a responsibility to use that gift both wisely and well," he told the templar.

"And demons?"

"Demons gain a foothold when they can offer something a mage doesn't have, something that no one else can give. I have a wonderful wife and three lovely children--and now, I have a place I can safely call home. What could any demon possibly offer me to make me risk losing that?"

Bryant arched an eyebrow. "That is a noble sentiment, though I'm not sure most mages--most people--would be content with such simple joys."

"Most mages don't have a chance to find out," Malcolm said dryly. Bryant inclined his head, conceding the point.

"Forgive me for asking," Bryant said, "but are you Fereldan? I didn't spend much time at Kinloch Hold, but I think I would have noticed another person who seems to have Rivaini blood."

Malcolm chuckled. "My mother was, indeed, Rivaini, but I was born in Ferelden. I was not trained here, however, but in the Circle in Kirkwall." It was a struggle to keep the venom out of his voice at the mention of that hateful place.

"Ah, I see." Bryant glanced at him. "I have heard...troubling stories about Kirkwall."

Malcolm stopped short. "Troubling? Yes, I suppose it could be, if you are the sort to find it troubling that children are taught that they're damned for simply existing. Or if you object to templars beating and whipping their charges for the slightest offense, or engaging in the worst kind of abuses while using the Rite of Tranquility as threat to ensure compliance. All while keeping mages confined in an old Tevinter slave prison, in case we were to get the mistaken idea that we are in any way better than animals...and I shouldn't forget the added benefit of housing mages in a place where the Veil is so thin you could tear it by sneezing too hard--"

Malcolm forced himself to take a deep breath. Julian came by his temper honestly; nothing tested Malcolm's hard-won control like thinking of the hated Gallows.

"Forgive me," he told Ser Bryant, "I don't have many fond memories of that place."

"I take it the conditions you described are why you left?" There was a hint of something like sympathy in the templar's voice.

"In part, yes." Malcolm smiled. He'd never forget that first moment when he saw Leandra and knew with a bone-deep certainty that he'd found the other half of his heart.

More walking, and they reached the place where the road diverged between Ser Bryant's path to the Chantry and Malcolm's way around the village center to the Hawke farm. Bryant crossed his arms over his chest and bowed.

"I am pleased to have had the opportunity to meet you at last, Master Hawke," he said, teeth flashing in a genuine grin. "I enjoyed our conversation, as well, though it would be best if we didn't make a habit of it."

"Indeed." Malcolm bowed in return. "I know you are risking a great deal, and I hope that I can live up to the trust you've placed in me."

Ser Bryant inclined his head. "I have little doubt that you will. Good evening, Master Hawke."

Malcolm waited until he could no longer hear the clank of armor before turning toward home, stride lengthening now that he was alone. He couldn't wait to see Leandra's face when he gave her the news that they could stop running at last.


End file.
